Merciless (Alexandria Novels 2)

“What caused the scars?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. It will help me determine treatment.”

“I was burned.”

Dixon made several notes. “I’ve had some success with laser treatment.”

“I don’t want surgery. Anesthesia can dull the mind and make people say things they should not.”

“There are ways to numb your skin so that you would be fully awake and fully conscious.”

“Perfect.”

“Mind if I examine the scars?”

“Sure.” He rose and moved through the connecting door into an exam room. He sat on the table and pulled off his shirt. He had a well-muscled flat stomach and a sprinkle of hair on his chest, but the lower part of his belly was disfigured with puckered, pink flesh.

Dixon nodded. “This must have been terribly painful.”

“It was.”

“These are deep. It could take quite a few laser treatments, and even then it won’t be perfect. The skin will never be like it was.”

“I’m hoping you can get rid of it all.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s important that you try. They link me to a past that I want to release completely.”

“Sure.”

He pulled his shirt back on. “When can we start?”

“I can schedule you next Tuesday.”

“Any time after two would work. I have a one o’clock appointment.”

The obits page in the paper had listed Sierra Day’s funeral for Tuesday of next week. Dixon had sense enough to stay away from the event, which would be crawling with cops. He prayed his friend had the same kind of sense.

“Tell me you are not going to her funeral.” He lifted his gaze. “I need to know. Are you going?”

The man raised an index finger to his lips. “It’s none of your business if I do or don’t.”

Dixon lowered his voice a notch. “We agreed to stay away.”

“I know what we agreed to.”

“So what are you doing?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t the first to break the rules.”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned forward and flashed even white teeth. “You want to keep her all to yourself, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been following Ms. Carlson.”

“I’ve not been following Angie.”

A thick eyebrow arched. “So it’s Angie now?”

“It’s always been Angie. She was my attorney. And I went to see her because the cops came to see me. I needed legal advice.”

“Please, you did not need advice. You wanted to see her, to smell her.” His eyes danced with glee. “Don’t feel bad—I’ve thought about her too.” He leaned forward and whispered, “I’ve thought about the warmth draining from her skin as I choke the life out of her lungs.”

Dixon’s tension ratcheted up. He’d often thought about keeping Angie all to himself. “I don’t want her to die.”

“That’s the deal. You play. I kill.”

“I know. But she’s different.”

The man shook his head as he hopped off the table. “She’s not different. She’s just like the others. She’s a whore. Willing to sell her soul for fame, relief, or power. You fill in the blank.”

Dixon’s anger simmered below the surface. “I want her.”

“I can see that.” He leaned forward. “But you can’t have her for yourself. We share. That’s the deal.”

Dixon fisted his fingers. “I can stop you. I can stop you from killing her.”

Lightning-quick reflexes sent the man’s hand shooting up to Dixon’s throat. He tightened his hold, choking the breath. “You cannot stop me. No one can stop me.”

Dixon clawed at the hands around his throat. “Let me go.”

“Say it. Say that you can’t stop me.” He squeezed his fingers, bending cartilage and bone to the point of breaking. “Say it.”

Dixon twisted his neck trying to break free. His lungs screamed for air. “Fine. I can’t stop you.”

The pressure eased just a fraction to allow him to speak but not really to breathe. “And?”

“I’ll do what you say.”

He released Dixon’s neck. Instantly Dixon sucked in air. He’d only been afraid three times in his life. When he’d found his girlfriend’s killer leaning over her dead body all those years ago. The second time had been when Garrison had arrested him for attempted murder. Garrison questioned Dixon for hours about Lulu and the missing prostitutes. The cop had sworn to link Dixon to all the women. But he’d kept quiet, knowing silence would serve him as it had in the past.

The third time was now. Now he was afraid of this partner he had brought into his life. He hoped silence would be enough to save him this time.

The ride to Vivian Sweet’s house was solemn and quiet. A heaviness had settled on Angie’s shoulders, and she found emotions kept jabbing her.

Malcolm pulled up in front of the small house and waited for her as she walked around the front of the car. He followed her up the front walk. She rang the bell.

Vivian appeared seconds later. The lines on her face deepened when she saw them. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her face pale. “I dreamed about her last night. I dreamed that she’d died.”

Malcolm drew in a breath.

But it was Angie that spoke. “Her body was identified early this morning.”

“Identified this morning. You couldn’t tell it was her just by looking at her?” Her knees buckled, and Angie pushed forward and caught her under the arm. She guided Vivian inside and helped her sit on the couch.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Sweet.”

“How did she die?”

“We’ve yet to determine that,” Malcolm said. His voice held a tenderness she’d never heard before.

The silence in the house tweaked Angie’s senses. “Where is the baby? Where is David?”

“In his bed asleep. He’s been cranky all morning. He must sense that his mama is gone.”

“Do you have someone who can stay with you?” Angie said. “Someone who can help you with the baby?”

“Got a neighbor who said she’d come by. Should be here soon.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be alone.” Vivian needed care, but so did the baby. And Vivian, her body so fragile and worn as it was, didn’t have the strength to care for him now.

“I can call social services,” Malcolm said.

“That’s not necessary,” Angie said. “Vivian and her neighbor can watch out for him today.”

Malcolm shifted his weight as if wrestling with a new frustration. “Right. But what about tomorrow?”

Vivian look

ed up at Angie, her eyes watery and red. “He’s right about tomorrow. I don’t have it in me to take care of him. I was barely holding on, hoping Lulu would return. Now I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

The idea of turning the boy over to strangers or social services made her sick. “I’ll help you figure out something. I promise.”

“Did she suffer?” Vivian said. “Did my girl suffer?”

Angie did not want to lie, but the truth could not be good. Her killer had stripped the flesh from her bones for a reason. “She’s at peace now.”

Vivian dropped her face to her hands and cried. For long, tense minutes Malcolm stood over them while Angie patted the woman on the back. And then in a split second the front doorbell rang, and the baby wailed.

“I’ll get the door,” Malcolm said.

Angie nodded and rose, knowing she’d take care of David. She found the boy standing in his crib holding on to the railing. His eyes were watery, and he clutched a pacifier in his mouth. He smiled when he saw Angie. She grinned and picked him up. The weight of his diaper told her he needed a change. She’d never changed a diaper before, but how hard could it be? She carried him to the changing table.

“Hey, guy,” she said.

He raised his hands and grabbed her lip.

She laughed, pulled his hand away, and kissed his palm. “I don’t know much about diapers, but I can manage.”

He kicked and squirmed as she unsnapped his pants. She stared at the diaper, not quite sure what to do first. She smiled at the boy, who kicked his feet harder.

“The neighbor is here,” Malcolm said. He stood in the doorway.

“Great.”

“Are you changing him?” No missing the amazement in his voice.

She blew a wisp of hair from her eyes. “That’s the plan.”

“And you’ve never done it before.”

“Not even once.”

He moved beside her and grabbed a diaper from the shelf below. He made quick work of stripping the soiled diaper and replacing it with a fresh one.

“I’m impressed, Detective.”

“Niece and nephew. I babysit from time to time.” He handed her the baby.

Emotion hitched her throat. “You’ll be a great dad.”

Angie hadn’t dwelled too much on the fact that she couldn’t have children. It was what it was. But for the first time in seven years, a well of sadness rose up in her. She simply wanted to cry.